


Busan

by indyluckycharlie



Series: Spy Versus Spy [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Smut, Sub Bucky Barnes, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indyluckycharlie/pseuds/indyluckycharlie
Summary: Now alone at the bar, you pick up your glass to swirl the ice around before slowly turning your eyes to him, your lips curving upward when you see him looking.With a nod, he raises his glass and you do the same. He brings his glass to his lips, but instead of doing the same, you raise your chin at him in question.Curious, he quirks an answering brow as he sips from his beer.Very deliberately, making sure there’s no chance he can misunderstand you, you mouth the words:Want. To. Fuck?_____When your teams collaborate for a job in South Korea, you learn that you work very well together. Can the two of you play together just as well?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: Spy Versus Spy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149251
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Busan

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing originally started out with the one-shot now titled "Barecelona". And I've decided that I want to make this an ongoing series. So this story was born to show the beginning of this relationship. (Oh, also, the reader works for the International Agency for Criminal Investigation and Public Safety, which I made up and will probably never be important to you, but I needed to give it a name, so here we are.)
> 
> Y'all, between the busyness of life and my inconsistent focus, this took me an AGE to write and I've kind of lost perspective. So I'm sorry, I don't know if it's any good. Last night, I thought it was total crap. Today, I'm feeling better about it, so you'll have to be the judge. 
> 
> If you like it, please let me know and if you don't, please be kind. And thanks for sticking with me. Lots of love!

* * *

“Here’s to our first partnership with the IA.” Steve’s voice rings clear as he looks around the circle of raised glasses. “Thank you, to all of you. We really never have worked with such an amazing team before. So here’s to what we hope will be the first of many successful missions together.”

He raises his glass another inch, but before the others can follow suit, you cut in.

“May I?” 

Steve pauses, then nodding politely, he gives the floor to you. 

“We would also like to say ‘thank you’ to you and yours. It has been such an amazing opportunity to work with you all. And I really have to say, you guys do not disappoint. In fact, you all are probably the best-” your lips curve up devilishly and your eyes sparkle- “ _ back-up _ we’ve ever had.” 

Your teammates laugh at the dig, while the Avengers groan good-naturedly. You eye Steve and he nods again, accepting your right to a little friendly gloating. 

“Cheers!” he calls, and as you do the same, a chorus of voices echoes the toast back to you.

Steve steps towards you as those around you move to hunt for open seats around the bar. 

Bucky watches you clink your glass against Steve’s as he raises it to you in salute, captain to captain. Bucky hesitates. He’d love to join you, to slide up next to you and say something cocky and antagonizing to get you riled up, even though you both know you’ve earned the right to gloat. 

It was you, after all, who noticed that discrepancy in the blueprint, who asked the right questions about the target’s log books, who followed a hunch that saved twenty lives. And it was a member of your team whose uncannily thorough knowledge of the Busanian petty crime network and quick wits had led to the arrest that broke the case wide open. 

Just the same, he'd find some excuse to tease you, to see you turn to him with your eyes alight in challenge, that arch twist to your lips, as you trade barbs. He longs to slip into that flirtatious rhythm that you’ve so easily found yourselves in time and again over the past two weeks. 

But Sam is watching and Bucky’s taken enough jests from him about his “crush” already ;  he isn’t interested in inviting any more. Not from Sam. And not from Steve either, who’s also happily taken to teasing him about you whenever you’re not around. 

He decides to head to the bar instead, figuring he’ll find another chance when he’ll have less of an audience. As he turns, he catches Steve’s voice. 

“Just had to rub it in, didn’t you?” 

Your answering laugh sends warmth coursing through him. 

Much to his consternation, Bucky fails to find his opportunity as the night wears on. Somehow, you end up circling just outside of his orbit. Several times, he manages to catch your eye across the room. You offer a nod and the occasional wink. But your paths never cross directly. 

After a few hours, the bar quiets down. Most  of the rest of the team have found their way back up to their rooms and the few that remain gather together in small clusters. 

Bucky sits at a high top, leaning against the wall, only half listening as Sam and Steve argue with Rhodey about who really should have been eliminated in last week’s GBBO. His eyes wander to where you sit at the bar, with your second-in-command, Hussan. Normally quiet and serious, she throws her head back and laughs wildly at something you say. 

Bucky longs to know what. 

He wonders if it would be rude for him to intrude on the two of you now. He flicks his eyes to his friends. Deep in their own conversation, he doubts they’d even notice if he left.

When he looks back to you, he sees that Hussan is pushing her chair back and pulling her coat on. She gives you a quick hug and she’s gone. 

Now alone at the bar, you pick up your glass to swirl the ice around before slowly turning your eyes to him, your lips curving upward when you see him looking. 

With a nod, he raises his glass and you do the same. He brings his glass to his lips, but instead of doing the same, you raise your chin at him in question.

Curious, he quirks an answering brow as he sips from his beer.

Very deliberately, making sure there’s no chance he can misunderstand you, you mouth the words: 

_ Want. To. Fuck? _

Bucky chokes on his drink. Sputtering, he reaches for a napkin to dab at the alcohol he's spilled on the table. 

You wait, laughing silently as he regains control of himself. Once he does, he looks at you again. 

_ Really? _ He telegraphs with his eyes.

You purse your lips and nod deliberately. 

Unable to stop himself, he grins widely. Suddenly aware of how artlessly eager he must look, he attempts to control it, to curve it into something sly instead. 

He’s certain that he’s failed when he sees that you’re once again stifling a laugh. Thankfully, you don’t yet seem to be turned off by his complete and utter lack of chill. You simply tilt your head meaningfully and await his reply.

Unwilling to chance that you might change your mind, he quickly mouths,  _ Yes. _

Pleased, you smile again and  nod your head towards the door that connects the bar to the hotel. Without waiting for him to reply, you slip from your chair, grabbing your jacket as you go, and head for the exit. You don’t look back to see if he’s coming as you push through to the hallway that leads to the elevator bay. 

As inconspicuously as he can, he downs his drink, offers a barely acknowledged “goodbye” to his friends and makes his way to the exit. 

You stand outside of the elevators and he trots down the hall to meet you. He catches up just as the doors open and you step inside. The elevator is mercifully empty. As he follows you in, he reaches for your waist and spins you to face him. 

You run your hands up his arms. Glancing down, you smirk and press a finger into his chest. He looks down to see a wet spot from his earlier mishap with his beer and groans. 

"How embarrassing."

"I thought it was kind of cute. Besides, I like your-" you bite your lip on a mocking smile- " _ enthusiasm _ ." 

Pink cheeked, he shakes his head. Then with narrowed eyes, he purses his lips and steps forward, maneuvering you backwards until you're pressed against the wall. 

“Any chance I can make you forget that ever happened?” 

You smirk. “No. But you can try.” 

Grabbing him by the collar, you yank him down to you. For a moment, he's startled, but then your mouth is on his and his brain shorts out. He reacts instinctively, matching your intensity and pressing the full length of his body against you. You pull back only far enough to nip at his lower lip before crushing your mouth against his once more. He can barely  breathe , but he doesn't care. In seconds, he's dizzy. 

Distantly, he hears the ding of the elevator. He pitches forward, confused and unsteady as you abruptly pull free of his embrace and step around him towards the doors. But in the split second it takes him to get his bearings, you're turning around, your back to the open hallway. Smiling, you reach for him and grab hold of him by the belt. 

You pull him towards you. "This way, Sergeant. The elevator isn't exactly the best place for all the things I intend to do to you."

His heart skips as blood rushes through him. 

Twisting back to face forward but never letting go of his belt, you tug. He huffs a surprised laugh and follows where you lead. 

He's grateful when you stop at a door only two down. The looks that you toss him over your shoulder as you walk, make him want to jerk you back against him and slip his hand under your clothes where you stand. 

In fact, when you stop to unlock the door, he  decides to do just that and pulls you back against him . As you attempt to get the key in the lock, he kisses up the back of your neck. Your head falls forward with a moan as you reach one hand back and sink your fingers into his thick hair.

As soon as the lock turns green, you shove the door open. Twisting in his arms, you again grab his belt and tug him into the room with you. 

You pull him straight backwards, towards the bed. But with a smooth pivot, he turns you both and lifts you onto the side table by the door. 

You let out an indignant huff, but wrap your legs around his waist and tilt your hips to meet his. He's already half-hard and groans into your mouth as you kiss him. 

You slide one hand under his shirt, seeking out the heat of his bare skin. With the other, you catch his chin and tilt his head back. He groans again as you bite him and cover his throat with searing kisses. Eager for more contact, he rocks his hips into you, and you moan.

Already missing the taste of you, he jerks his head down to meet your mouth again. Just like before, electricity skitters along his nerves and shorts out all logical thought. Lifting his hands from your waist, he cups his hands behind your neck. But only for a moment because you're knocking his hands loose as you shove his jacket off of his shoulders. With your help, he shakes it free and reaches for you again. Leaning forward, he pushes you further against the wall. Without breaking the kiss, you push back, tightening your thighs around him. But when he leans into you again, you stiffen. 

Alarm courses through him and he pulls back. Catching your eye, he asks, "Is something wrong? Did I-"

You stop his words with a hand to his lips and offer a reassuring smile. "Everything's fine." You lean forward and kiss him softly. And then again, more firmly. Against his lips, you repeat, "Everything's fine, it's just that-"

He leans back with a questioning look. And your lips quirk teasingly. 

"-we can't  _ both _ lead."

With a breathy laugh, he leans in and presses his lips to yours again. 

"No, I suppose not."

When he deepens the kiss, you let him for just a breath, before pushing a hand firmly against his chest. 

Uncertain, he raises his brows. You narrow your eyes and bite your lip thoughtfully, before boosting yourself off the table. 

Both hands on his chest now, you push him again, and he yields, letting you steer him back to sit on the bed. 

He looks up at you in question. But when you smile down at him, eyes dark and your tongue slipping out to wet your lips, his uncertainty fades. He pulls you in and stretches up to graze his teeth across the tender skin of your throat. 

You let your head fall back, and he trails heated kisses down to the neckline of your shirt. 

“I think you like to be in control.” You remark, your voice grown husky. 

“You could say that,” he murmurs against your throat.

You run your fingers through his hair, then grabbing firmly, you pull his head back. It doesn't hurt but  makes his  eyes widen and his heart skip. An unexpected jolt of excitement courses through him. 

“See, the thing is-” You tilt your chin down and hold his gaze intently- “so do I. Now, I  _ can  _ be flexible about that.  _ But _ on a night like tonight, when my team has bested yours-” you work to keep the arrogance out of your smile but it shows- “I think I’ve earned the right to a reward of my own choosing, don’t you? And tonight,  _ I _ want to be the boss.”

He nods slowly. “I see.” 

“The question is, Sergeant: are you the kind of man who can let someone else be in charge?”

He leans back and lets his gaze slide from your face slowly down the length of your body and back again. His hands tighten on your hips. 

"For you? Yes.”

Your eyes darken as you smile. “ _ Good _ .” You wrap your hands around his wrists and pull his hands away. “Then hands off-” With a firm shove to the chest, he falls back onto the bed- “and lay down.”

Something flutters in his belly. The last time a woman bossed him around like this, he’d been a green young man getting an education in a French brothel. He forgot what it could be like to let someone else take the reins. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies earnestly.

You smile at his choice of words with real pleasure. 

“I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun.” 

Your words warm him, and as you sweep appraising eyes along the length of his body, he suddenly has the urge to be  _ very _ good for you. 

You knock his knees open with your own and when he quickly complies, you place your knee on the bed between his thighs and climb over him onto the bed. He wants to reach for you again, but he holds back, just like you asked him to. 

You place your hands on either side of his head and let your thigh press firmly between his legs for a long minute. He bites his lip, but a soft moan escapes him nonetheless. You smile as you shift to straddle him.  Settling  in, you press down with your hips in two slow circles, eliciting an appreciative sound from him. 

You let out a slow breath that stutters at the end as you lean over him. 

“Oh Sergeant, I can’t  _ wait _ to play with you.” He lifts his head hoping to catch your mouth, but you pull back with a tut and sit upright. “Not so fast. Before we get started, I need to ask you a couple of things.” 

Not a complete stranger to modern sex, he anticipates your question. 

“I have condoms-” you say, with a gesture towards where your suitcase sits open on the sofa- “but I need to know when you were last tested.” 

He nods. “We have routine physicals with STI screenings. We had one just before we connected with your team in Seoul. I’m clean.”

“Good.” Gesturing to your chest, you add, “Same.” 

“That’s good news, ma'am.” 

Something flares in your eyes and you continue. 

“Now, I fully expect us to use condoms for the ‘big show,’” your lip quirks at your own euphemism and his does the same. “But, since we’re both clean, would you be open to some play without protection?” You lean over him again and your voice drops to a whisper, “To be honest, Sergeant, I don’t really care for the taste of rubber.”

Heat streaks through him and his hips twitch at the image your words call forth. Your mouth twists smugly as his heartbeat kicks up. 

“Can I take that as a yes, Sergeant?”

“Yes,” his voice comes out half-choked and he tries again, with better success. “Yes.”

“Good.” He flicks his eyes down to your lips, hopeful that you’ll finally kiss him again. But you’re not done and your next question catches him off-guard. “What about your no’s?”

“No’s?” 

You tilt your head at him. 

“If I’m going to tell you what to do, I need to know if there are things that you don’t like.”

You lean back as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, brow wrinkled. He hadn't expected this. He realizes he never really thought about it before, never had to since he's so used to being in control.

He frowns in thought. 

Settling back further, your brow comes down. Taking his uncertainty as reluctance, you offer, “We don’t have to play this game if you don’t like it.”

His eyes snap back to yours and his hands come to rest on your knees. 

“No, that’s- that’s not it. I  _ do  _ want to, it’s just that,” he shrugs, “no ones’ ever asked me that before.”

You frown. “It seems like they should have.”

“I suppose it’s never come up. It's been a very long time since I let someone boss me around."

Smiling, you incline your head. "I'm honored."

He returns your smile, then clears his throat.

"I guess, uh, nothing that causes pain. At least not on purpose. If you accidentally scratched me or if you wanted to bite me I'd be okay with that." He finds himself feeling unusually shy as the words tumble out of his mouth. But when you smile and clack your teeth at him, his nerves dissolve with his laughter. 

Still, he has trouble wording his next request. 

"Um, and if you want to-" oh boy, he supposes there is no delicate way to put this- "stick, uh, anything in me, I'd like to talk about it first."

Your nose crinkles as your smile deepens, but there's no teasing in your voice. 

"I wouldn't do that anyways. Surprise you, I mean. I think penetration warrants a conversation, don't you?"

He huffs through his nose. "Yes."

"Anything else?"

He chews his lip as he thinks. 

"I don't mind if you want to restrain me, but I don't want to be tied up. At least not this-"  _ time _ . He cuts off before he finishes his thought, realizing just how presumptuous that would be. 

You seem to read his mind and smile knowingly. But you don't say anything. Instead you place your hands on top of his where they still rest on your knees and gesture with your chin for him to lay back. As he does, you adjust your hold on him and lift his hands away as you lean forward. Laying your chest firmly against his and holding him by the wrists you press his arms into the bed on either side of his head, causing his heart to beat wildly. 

"How's this?"

"Good," he whispers. You're so close to him now that he can feel your breath on his face. 

"Anything else?"

"Not that I can think of."

"You'll tell me if you think of anything else?"

"Yes."

You nod, then bite your lip as you let your eyes wander from his, down to his lips and then further still. 

You pull a long breath in through your nose and catch his gaze again. 

“Sergeant, I’m going to take your clothes off now. And since you’re my reward, and I like to  _ savor _ my prizes, I’m going to unwrap you very slowly, like a present to myself.” 

He gives his ascent with a jerk of his head.

With another firm press into the mattress, you release his wrists and trace your fingers down his forearms as you shift back. 

“Stay. Just. Like. That.”

Curving around his elbows, your fingers slide slowly across his biceps and meet at his chest. He watches as your fingers rise and fall with the increasingly rapid rhythm of his breath. 

You make you way down further to the hem of his t-shirt, already bunched up at the front of his muscled torso. You pause and stretch up past him, leaning slightly to the side. He twists his head up to watch you as you click the button on the bedside lamp and warm light fills the room. 

You slowly make your way back to sitting, allowing your breasts to graze lightly across his chest as you go.

“You know Sergeant, I’ve been fantasizing about what’s underneath these clothes since I met you. And I’ll be damned if I can’t see.”

Reaching for the hem of his shirt, you gesture for him to lean up so that you can pull it up and off. You toss it to the side as you settle back onto his lap and let your gaze wander lazily over his chest. 

He squirms slightly under your scrutiny as his cheeks and throat blotch red.

Your keen eyes take notice. “You’re not shy are you, Sergeant?”

“No, ma’am.” Though he can’t hide his deepening blush. “Just not used to  being  stared at like that.”

“You should get used to it, because this,” you bend and press your lips to his breast bone, “is a body made to be worshipped.”

You slowly make your way up his chest, then his throat and jaw, stopping at his mouth where he eagerly greets you before you make your way back down again. Your lips bring heat to his skin and hollow his belly with rapid breaths. You delicately bite his collarbone, his nipples, his ribs. Your teeth graze a line from his tender sides down the curve of muscle that disappears under his jeans.

You slide down, off the bed and crouch at his feet to untie his shoes. He wonders if he should offer to do it himself but remembers who’s in charge here and knows that you’ll tell  him  if you want his help. 

Once you’ve tossed his boots and socks aside, you kneel between his knees and bring your hands to his waist.

As you unbuckle his belt, you glance up at him, lip caught between your teeth. Suddenly he's desperate to reach for you, to pull you close, and kiss you. His fingers twitch at the thought, but he manages to keep the backs of his hands pressed firmly against the bed where you left them. 

He lets out a  measured  breath that does little to slow his wild heartbeat. You eagerly watch his muscles shift on the exhale. You seem to read his thoughts and smile approvingly as you grasp the waist of his pants and pull them off, taking his underwear as you go.

Your eyes widen as you settle back between his knees and let out an appreciative sigh.

“Oh my.”

He huffs a shy laugh, suddenly too warm all over despite the cool air.

You place your hands on his knees and run them up his thighs, letting your thumbs stroke along the sensitive insides. He draws in a shuddering breath and his stomach tenses as your hands climb higher.

“You’re doing so good, Sergeant.” You’re so close now, your breath draws goosebumps to his skin. “I promise it will be worth it.” 

He inhales sharply as your lips press against him, followed by your tongue. Wet heat abruptly envelops him and it’s too much. Instinctively, he lifts his hips to meet you and you pull back, letting cool air race across damp skin. 

He whimpers as you click your tongue disapprovingly.

"I thought I told you to hold still."

"Sorry ma'am. It just-" he pants- "feels so good."

You hum, "And I want to keep making you feel good, but I need you to be good for me. Can you do that?"

"Yes ma'am. I can behave." His voice trembles but holds.

You purr in approval and lower your head. But you let several breathes pass before you do anything more. A reminder of the consequences for disobedience. 

He does his best to hold steady, to not let even a twitch belie his promise. After what he's sure is an eternity, you touch your lips to him again and he groans in relief. 

You draw incoherent sounds from him as you slide teeth and lips and tongue across tender flesh. He fights to hold still. His back curves reflexively and his fingers grasp at the blanket, but he manages to keep his hips pinned to the bed. 

With each shuddering breath, he gives over more and more control to you. His mind turns hazy and he can barely keep track of his surroundings, but he no longer cares. 

When you stop again, he whimpers. His foggy thoughts try desperately to recall if he's done something wrong.

But your voice is sweet as you ask, "Do you like that, Sergeant?"

A thin whine is all he can manage. But you're not satisfied. 

" _ Sergeant _ . Do you like that?"

This time he pants out. "Yes! Yes, I like it!"

Your voice is a purr. "And would you like me to keep doing it?"

"Please." He doesn't care that he sounds needy; he is. He feels like he just might crack wide open if you stop now. 

Without another word, you bend down and envelop him completely once again. His hips jerk up automatically, and for a moment he thinks he's messed up, but this time, instead of pushing him back down, you tighten your mouth around him and he gasps.

Before you'd been teasing, mixing playful nips and kisses with moments of startling intensity. But now you're relentless. You give him no reprieve as you take him higher. And higher still, higher than he thought he could go without breaking. 

And when he finally does break, he swears he's never made such a sound before in his life. 

He doesn't even realize how far he'd arched off of the bed until he falls back and bounces up slightly. His palms cover his eyes and absently, he notices his fingers tangled in his own hair. He unclenches them and lets his arms splay loose at his sides. He draws in several long breaths and wills his heart rate to slow. 

He eventually opens his eyes and finds you leaning over him. At some point- though he doesn't know when- you must have traded your mouth for your hand so that you could better watch the effects of your handy work as he came undone, and his cheeks warm. 

Your eyes are hungry and dark, but in your smile he catches something else. He feels a sudden and unexpected urge to preen. 

Because you look proud. 

Of him.

You're smug, that's clear enough. But the pride in your eyes, that's all for him. He flushes deeply, pleased in a way he's never known before. And heaven help him, he realizes he'll happily  _ keep _ doing whatever you ask of him if it means you'll keep looking at him like that. 

“I like the sounds you make.”

He laughs, not sure if he’s embarrassed or pleased. “Thank you? You’re the one responsible for them, so I suppose I should be thanking you.”

“It would be polite,” your tone is serious but your smile is playful. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” You give him a wink as you slide off the bed and disappear into the bathroom. 

When you return you carry a damp cloth in your hand and when you press it to his abdomen to wipe away the sticky mess there, he pulls himself onto his elbows, embarrassed in earnest. 

“Oh, you don’t have- I can do that.”

You tilt your head at him quizzically and continue with your work.

“Sergeant, I'm going to take care of you.” You cup his chin and kiss him. “It’s part of the deal.” 

You kiss him again, then slip away to the bathroom a second time. When you come back, still fully clothed, you pause to slip off your shoes and socks. He thinks that he should feel embarrassed, sprawled naked on the bed, having just been cleaned up by you. But instead some thing stirs warm in his stomach, and he’s once again struck by a strong desire to please you.

He sits up as you crawl back onto the bed and kneel beside him.

“Ma’am?”

Pleased, you smile. “Yes?”

With a lick of his lips and a drifting gaze, he asks, “Do I get to see you without your clothes?”

“Is that something you would like, Sergeant? To undress me?”

“It is.” He replies more eagerly than he intended.

You tilt your head as if you’re thinking about it, but you can’t hide your smile. 

“Then yes, but-” you hold up a warning finger- “watch your hands. You’re going to take my clothes off, this isn’t an opportunity to cop a feel.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles and comes onto his knees in front of you. But instead of reaching for you, he holds his arms firm at his side, waiting for your direction.

Approval shines bright in your eyes and his stomach flutters. 

“You may take my shirt off.”

Fighting his own eagerness and ignoring the abrupt throb between his thighs, he makes himself go slow. Grasping your shirt at the hem, he pulls it up slowly. He wants to slide his palms up your sides as he goes, but remembering what you said, he only allows his knuckles to brush against you. He’s pleased when he notes the way your stomach pulls inward as you inhale an uneven breath. 

Once your shirt is over your head, he tosses it to the side and leans back just enough to let his gaze wander across your newly exposed skin. You let him for a long moment before commanding him again.

“Bra now.”

He bites his lip as he leans in, holding your eyes until he can no more. Without touching you, he passes his cheek within an inch of yours and looks over your shoulder as he reaches his hands around to the clasp at the back. He lets the tips of his fingers press lightly into your back as he undoes the hooks. He’s pleased to see the goosebumps that bloom across your back and up to your shoulder where his breath caresses your skin. 

He slowly pulls your bra free of your arms and tosses it in the direction of your shirt. But he only pulls back slightly, reveling in the heat radiating off of your skin as he gazes down at your breasts.

He loves the way your breath hitches as he watches your pulse dance in your throat. 

“Ma’am?” He sighs against your skin. 

“Yes?” He smiles to himself at the breathy catch in your voice.

“May I kiss you?”

You shift so that you can look into his eyes. 

You nod, but when he leans in eagerly, you stop him with a hand to his lips. Tilting your chin up, you point to a spot just below your jaw. 

"Here."

He presses his lips to the spot. As he opens his mouth, he lets his teeth drag slowly across your skin before flicking his tongue out to taste the salt of your skin. He grins when you sigh. 

“Here.” You breath, pointing to your collarbone. 

He complies immediately, nipping lightly at the bone before pressing his lips against your skin. 

You bite down on a soft moan and point to your breast. 

“Here.”

This time instead of lifting his mouth completely away, he lets his lips trail along your skin as he makes his way slowly down.

With a huff of breath, you arch up into him. Reflexively, he reaches out to steady you, but stops, remembering the rules. And his manners. 

“Please ma'am, may I hold you?” 

His voice sounds hoarse in his own ears. He barely makes out your whispered reply. 

“Yes.”

Spreading his hands across your back, he revels in the weight of you as you bend back into them. You brace your hands against his shoulders as he opens his mouth wider, drawing in more of your soft skin. 

“Here.” 

He’s greedy now, hungry and fevered. 

As quick as you command, he follows. He sucks on your nipple, bites on your ribs, traces your curves with his tongue. 

By the time he reaches the waist of your pants, you’re laying back against the bed, with him stretched out above you. Not pressed against you, not yet, you haven’t given him permission. 

“Pants.” You’d think you’d been shouting for how worn your voice sounds. 

He wishes he had the patience to take your pants off slowly, to draw it out, to see if he could tease you enough to make that beautiful control slip. But he doesn’t. 

As soon as your zipper is down he pulls them off roughly, lifting your hips and dragging you three inches down the bed. 

A laugh sounds in your throat. 

“Eager, are we?” 

He growls in reply then catches himself. 

Dipping his head with a grimace, he amends, “Sorry, ma’am.” 

You cup his chin in your hand, prompting him to meet your eye. 

“I’m not complaining, Sergeant.”

He smiles slow and nods.

Releasing his chin, you point to your inner thigh. “Here.” 

He eagerly resumes his work, chasing your fingers across your skin. His heartbeat spikes every time your hand climbs higher and higher up your thighs. But everytime you lead him away, with what he's sure is malicious fervor at his expense. 

He’s obedient, he is, but he can’t help the whines that escape him. He longs for the taste of you. 

“Here.” 

This time he can’t see where you’re pointing and lifts his head in confusion. When he sees that your finger is pressed to your lips, he propels himself forward with a force that draws a startled laugh from you, which he abruptly swallows in the heat of his mouth. 

Your nails scratch down his scalp and you pull him to you. He gasps into your mouth when you hook your leg around his hip and lift up into him. 

“There you go with those noises again, Sergeant.” Your teeth gleam in the dim, a wolf’s smile. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t help myself.” 

You hum a thoughtful sound, then nip lightly at his bottom lip. 

“How do you feel about putting that beautiful mouth of yours to use in other ways, Sergeant?”

Relief bursts out of him in a hard breath. “I would like that very much.”

You smile.

“Let me show you what I like.”

As quick as you’ll allow, he’s kneeling between your thighs once again. As he pulls your underwear off, he’s surprised to see the slight tremor in his hands. As he settles himself low, he’s taken aback by the unsteady catch of his own breath. When you finally bade him forward at long last, he doesn’t expect the anxious thrum of his heart. 

But the moment his mouth touches you, the moment the taste of you bursts bright across his tongue, all his boyish nerves disappear. A heady rush of relief, of want, of rightness courses through him and chases away anything else. He thinks only of pleasing you. 

Though you allow him the freedom to use of his hands, even here, you are in control. You offer comments and praises, his favorite of these being "harder", "more", and a long drawn out and guttural " _ YES _ ". 

And he likes it. 

He likes that you know what you want and that you boldly tell him exactly what that is. And he wants to give it to you, to show you what a good listener he is and how good he is at taking direction. So good in fact that you’re writhing for him, too breathless, too lost in feeling to say anything at all. 

As he goes further, dives deeper, you moan and raise your hips to meet him. Pride surges through him and makes him dizzy. 

He aches heavy and hot between his thighs. Near desperate, he rubs himself against the bed, but not too much, just enough for some relief. He wants more but he can’t bear the thought of stopping his current pursuits. Besides, he wants you to tell him what to do about it. 

Soon enough he's drunk on feeling, on the taste of you, on the tremble and clench of your thighs, on the way you arch up into him as your breath breaks ragged through the air. He could stay this way forever he thinks. And maybe he does, time seems to have little meaning anymore. 

Your fingers sink into his hair. With a cry, you give a sharp tug. Startled, he stops and pulls himself up so he can look at you. 

"Is something wrong?"

Closed eyes, you scrub your head back and forth against the bed. “Sorry,” you rasp as you smooth your hand over the spot where his scalp still tingles.

“It’s okay. Are  _ you  _ okay?”

You smile as you breathe in slowly through your nose. “Yes. That was just-” you let out an uneven breath- “a little intense.”

Knowing you can't see, he indulges in a smug smile. Eagerly, he asks, "More?"

Your laugh is shaky. "Let me catch my breath. I think my heart is in very real danger of giving out."

You take in two more slow breaths before cracking open first one eye and then the other. You give him an appreciative look, and he can’t help the pleased smile that spreads across his face. It’s all he can do to stop himself from beaming when you say, “You are something else, aren’t you, Sergeant?”

Modestly, he bobs his head. “Thank you. You too,” he adds, feeling inexplicably shy. 

Sitting up, you impulsively pull him to you and kiss him. Before his brain even has time to process what’s happening, you’re pushing him away, on to his back on the bed beside you. Without touching, you slip past him off the bed. 

For a moment, he feels a sharp pang of disappointment, until he sees you reaching into the zipper compartment of your suitcase. When you turn around, he sees a strip of condoms in your hands. You tear one off and he’s pleased when you toss the rest on the bed instead of back in your bag. 

You gesture for him to shift positions so that he’s sitting upright once again at the end of the bed. You come to stand in front of him, just like before. But this time, instead of knocking his knees open, you straddle his legs and sit lightly on his thighs. 

Long past caring how eager he looks, his eyes light up as they meet yours. 

“Sergeant,” you hold his gaze intently, “I want you inside of me. Do you want that?” 

“Yes,” he breathes out shakily. 

You smile and bring the condom wrapper to your mouth. He watches avidly as you tear it open with your teeth and pull the condom from inside. 

“Good. Now, I need you to be very well - behaved. Can you do that?” He nods. You run your hand from his cheek down his throat and lean in to brush your lips against his. “You are so good for me, aren’t you, Sergeant? I just need you to be this well-behaved a _ little _ longer.” You drop your hands lower and slowly begin to roll the condom down his length. “No hands. And try to stay as still as you can.”

Any hope of speaking  is completely lost as you tighten your fingers around him, he squeezes his eyes shut tight and nods once more. 

With a smile you kiss him lightly, then shift so that your knees press into the bed on either side of his hips. You hover above him, but pause to tap lightly under his chin.

“Eyes open.”

With great effort, he opens them and breathes deep through his nose. You give him an approving look as you begin to lower yourself. 

He huffs a breath at first contact. As you ease down, slowly pushing him inside of you, he has to fight the urge to squeeze his eyes tight again. Your own eyes flutter, but don’t close. You bite your lip and offer him breathy praise. 

When the backs of your thighs finally press flush against his, his breath catches in his throat and he swears his heart stops beating. Desperate for friction, he twitches involuntarily inside you, longing to move. But you haven’t given him permission yet. He digs his fingers into the sheets instead. 

Your eyes spark and you praise him for his restraint with a searing kiss and just when he’s certain he can’t stand it anymore, when he’s sure he’ll break in half, you move. His heart restarts with the rock of your hips and the beat matches each deep drive. 

It's an exquisite kind of torture, not being allowed to touch you. Without his hands on your hips to anchor himself to this world, he might have floated off long ago if the entirety of his existence wasn't constricted down to the sharp fine details of you. The dig of your fingertips into his neck and his thigh, your hot breath against his throat, and that beautiful slide and pull as you move on top of him. 

Sometimes you move languid and slow, taking him in a mere inch at a time and pulling desperate whines from his throat. Other times, you snap your hips in a punishing rhythm, driving him deep as he struggles to catch his breath. He feels off balance when you switch without warning and he swears he could die right now and not regret a minute of it. 

He’s surprised when you pause. He gasps for breath in the stillness.

When you lean back to look into his face, your eyes are hooded and unfocused. 

He thought that you were in control. 

But when you speak, your voice is thick, and he knows you’re just as lost as he is. The desperate whine of your words makes him want to give you anything. Everything. 

“Barnes, I want you to fuck me.” 

His hands and mouth are on you as soon as the words fall from your lips. Pulling you hard against him, he thrusts deep. You gasp into his mouth as your nails bite into his skin. Slipping his hands under your thighs, he lifts you as he stands. Twisting around, he kneels on the bed before falling with you under him, driving you hard into the mattress.

The pace he sets is frantic and you match him. Your heels dig into the backs of his thighs and you raise your hips to meet him. Your breath bursts from you in staccato, mixed with deep moans and hoarse cries. 

He wants to touch you everywhere, kiss you everywhere, but like a starving man, over and over again he comes back to your lips. He’s not sure how he even lived before knowing the taste of them. 

You writhe and shudder beneath him as he feels himself nearing his peak. He whispers hoarsely against your mouth, “Is this what you want? Does this make you feel good?” 

A growl sounds in the back of your throat and you struggle to speak. Finally, you pant out, “Yes! God, yes!”

Grabbing him by the back of the neck, you roughly pull his head down to you. Your breath is hot and your voice is raw as you whisper into his ear. 

"You're so good for me, Sergeant."

His breath leaves him in a hard huff and his eyes squeeze shut. Afraid he may come from your words alone, he pulls himself tight against you and stills for a long moment. He holds for as long as he can before his hips start pumping wildly. Three more times and he's spilling, an animal sound bursting unbidden from his chest. He feels you clench around him as your spine goes rigid and your head falls back. 

The sound of his name echoes in his ears, sending aftershocks through him that make his heart stutter in his chest. Trembling arms give out and he collapses against you. You draw in a shuddering breath and ease your tight hold on his shoulders. 

When he is able to catch his own breath, he shifts back and kisses your throat. You turn your head and find his mouth with your own. You thread your fingers through his hair and only break apart when your already shallow breath fails. 

He presses his forehead against yours for a long moment before rolling onto his back. His limbs feel heavy. He can't remember the last time he felt this spent. He uses the last of his energy to discard the condom before falling back onto the bed. 

Still breathing heavily, you reach sideways and run a hand down his sweat slick chest. Playfully you pat his stomach. 

"Good job, Sergeant." You grin widely though your eyes remain closed. 

He laughs. "Thank you, ma'am."

Content, you lay side by side with only the sound of your breath and your blood rushing in your ears. 

After some time, he notices that something pricks against the skin of his back. He musters just enough energy to roll sideways so that he can pull it out from under him. He holds his find in front of his face and discovers that it is the strip of condoms you'd tossed on the bed earlier. 

He frowns. Only two left. 

His brow furrows and disappointment colors his voice. "This isn't going to be enough."

You turn your head to see what he's talking about and laugh when you catch sight of the silver foil in his hand and his pouting lip. 

Rolling to your side, you reach up and sooth his creased forehead with your thumb as he turns to look at you. 

"Don't worry, Sergeant. I have more."

\---

Gentle fingers card through his hair and his eyes open slowly. Faint, early morning sunlight filters in at the edge of the curtains. He lifts his head away from the pillow. Turning, he sees you sitting on the edge of the beside him. He pushes himself up from his stomach and rolls over to face you. 

“Hey.” You smile at his voice gone through with sleep. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

He tilts his head up to meet you as you lean forward and press your lips against his. He catches the scent of fresh soap on your skin and when you pull back, he tosses a glance towards the bathroom where condensation still clings lightly to the mirror. 

He frowns. 

“How long have you been up?”

“Not long.” You shrug. “Maybe twenty minutes?” 

His lip juts out further into a pout. “You should have woken me up. I’m a very fun shower companion.”

“I’m sure you are,” you laugh. You reach out a hand and playfully ruffle his hair, letting loose curls flop across his forehead. “And I  _ did _ try, but I couldn’t wake you up.”

He frowns again, but this time in surprise. He hasn’t been a heavy sleeper in years. As a boy he could sleep through anything, had to in a family of six. But he lost that skill long ago. Sometimes he wonders if it’s an effect of so many years in cryofreeze. 

“That’s very unlike me.”

You bite your lip on a smile. “You must have been very tired.” 

He glances sideways at you through long lashes and grins. Hooking his fingers into the collar of your shirt, he pulls you close. 

“I can’t imagine why.” 

You meet him eagerly when he brings his mouth to yours. At his urging, your lips part. He slides his tongue against yours and catches the taste of fresh toothpaste. He groans as he runs his hands down your back. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he grumbles as he abandons your lips to kiss down your jaw. 

Your fingers tighten reflexively on his shoulders as you sigh. 

“I know.” You grimace. “I have to leave.”

Undeterred, he dips his head and begins kissing his way down your throat. 

“Surely, you can stay just a little longer.” 

“I really-” you trace your fingers down his collarbone as your skin warms under his ministrations- “really wish I could. But-” pressing your hands against his chest, you firmly but reluctantly push him back- “I really can’t. I have a car coming for me in five.” 

You have to stifle a giggle at the look on his face. He blows the loose hair away from his face with a hard breath and pouts for another second before giving you a sideways smile. 

“Too bad.” He runs his hands lightly down your thighs. Hoping to affect an air of nonchalance, he asks, “What are the odds that I’m going to see you again?”

“Well,” you tilt your chin back and loop your hands behind his neck. “Interesting you should ask that because I just received an email from my director this morning. Apparently, she and Fury are  _ very _ pleased with our work here. So much so that they are currently discussing other opportunities for collaboration.”

“Really?” His eyes widen. “Does this mean that  _ we  _ might be able to ‘collaborate’ again?” 

“Oh, I certainly hope so.” You kiss him lightly, but before he can deepen it, you pull back. “Actually-” you pause, teeth pressing into your lower lip. When he raises his brown in question, you go on. “How would you feel about making a game of it?”

“A game?”

“Mmhmm. You see, I’m kind of competitive.” 

“I would not have guessed that about you.” He shakes his head in mock surprise.

You laugh. “Right? I conceal it so well.” 

“So how would this game work?”

“Well, we can sort out the specifics of the rules later, but let’s say that each mission we work together will have a winner. So, whichever one of us does the best work. Gets the best intel, brings in the target, or whatever. And if we come out equal, then we’ll decide based on whoever’s team comes out on top.”

He nods his head appreciatively. Squeezing your hips, he pulls you closer.

“So what does the winner get?”

Your lips curve up mischievously. 

“Whatever they want.”

  
  



End file.
